Page 79 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

And that’s what drives me mad.

He’s the same man who had me followed, who made my dating life a graveyard of first dates, who stormed into my world with bloodstained hands and forced a ring on my finger. He’s the man who pulled strings to marry me in exchange for my brother’s freedom, a man who didn’t ask—just took.

He’s also the man who holds me like I’m something he never thought he’d deserve. Who didn’t sleep, guarding me with a gun in his lap. Who circled Logan’s name in red and wroteProtect for Jennie. The man who kisses my bleeding lip like it’s holy and sets up candlelight dinners like we’re something real.

How the hell am I supposed to make sense of that?

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hands clenching in the fabric of his shirt. The scent of him wraps around me like a noose.

I don’t know what to feel.

I don’t know how to forgive him.

I don’t know how to stop wanting him.

And I sure as hell don’t know how to stop being scared—

Scared that he will break me in ways I’ll never recover from.

So, yeah.

He’s not here.

And it’s driving me absolutely insane.

Wait…am I in love?

I shake my head almost immediately—hard, fast, like I can knock the thought loose. No. That can’t be it. That can’t be what this is.

My stomach twists. A strange, nauseating mix of anxiety and longing churns in my gut, like I’ve swallowed something sharp and it’s lodged in my chest.

Is this what love is supposed to feel like?

Because if it is, then it’s cruel. It’s standing in the middle of a storm with your arms open, knowing full well the lightning might strike. It’s wanting someone who makes you feel like both the happiest and the saddest person in the world. A paradox wrapped in a heartbeat.

My heart.

God, I hate how it races when I think of him.

I bury my face in my hands, breath shuddering.

This is sick. This is wrong.

And worst of all—

This might actually be love.

A phone rings, sharp and sudden, yanking me out of my spiral. I follow the ring to the drawer and realize it’s my phone. Adrian must’ve left it here last night.

I glance at the screen. Zoe.

My heart skips, then stutters.

Why is she calling?

We’ve texted a few times since my marriage to Adrian, but mostly she’s left me alone, like she’s trying to respect my union.

I hesitate for a second, then slide to answer. “Hello?”